Cannes Falls For Michael Haneke’s Drama ‘Amour’

The grey skies, unseasonably chilly temperatures and drizzle on the Croisette may be encouraging festival goers to attend more screenings than usual, but those who viewed Austrian director Michael Haneke’s “Amour” on Sunday were rewarded with a riveting film that left many teary-eyed and speechless as the final credits rolled.

“Amour” has already received showers of praise from the critics, who generally agree that it’s the most serious contender for Palme d’Or thus far, though predictably, it’s not a barrel of laughs. Haneke, known for his demanding direction and meticulously constructed stark dramas (“The Pianist”, “Hidden”, “The White Ribbon”), has crafted an unexpectedly tender but unsentimental intimate portrait of an aging couple who are approaching the end of their lives.

The 70 year-old director says that he was naturally drawn to the subject because of his own age (here, a rare smile), and also having witnessed the declining health and suffering of family members. “But to make a good film, you need a good script and a good cast,” Haneke adds.

Anne (played by Emmanelle Riva, 85, the nameless heroine of Alain Resnais’ 1959 “Hiroshima mon Amour”) and Georges (veteran actor Jean-Louis Trintignant of “A Man and a Woman” fame who hasn’t appeared a film in years) are two retired piano teachers, still happily married and contentedly living their daily routines in their Paris apartment. They occasionally see their daughter, Eva (Isabelle Huppert), who unsuccessfully tries to connect with her parents but seems more concerned with her own problems, including trying to love her unfaithful musician husband (William Shimmel). But maybe, as the film suggests, that’s the way it should be—at a certain stage, parents and children should go their separate ways.

The couple’s complicitous banter (“What would you say if no one wanted to come to your funeral?” Anne asks Georges. “Probably nothing”, he answers) all take place within the confines of the apartment. One day, over breakfast, Anne goes blank—the first sign of a series of strokes that will leave her right arm paralyzed and eventually bring on dementia.

“There’s no good reason to go on living,” she tells him when she learns of her condition. Georges is then faced with the role of caretaker, having promised Anne that he will never put her in a home or let her return to the hospital.

Though the mood is claustrophobic, and the setting, a kind of theatrical no exit. The outside world fades, present only by the glare of light through the windows. A former piano student, nurses and the well-meaning concierge couple come and go through the front door; a pigeon arrives through the window but is eventually thrown back into the courtyard.

Essentially, Haneke grips the audience with another kind of subtle action, be it Georges’ shuffling gait or the hum of Anne’s electric wheelchair. And then, when their dialogue is no longer possible, the murmurs, cries, and wordless gazes unlock a deeper understanding about the devastating choices we make out of love.